ОРЧУУЛГЫН УРАЛДААН 2017-3-20
ХИС-ийн Орчуулгын клуб ээлжит орчуулгын уралдаанаа зарлаж байна.
Уралдаанд оролцогч нь Орчуулгын
клубээс бэлтгэсэн англи,
орос, герман, франц, хятад, япон, солонгос хэл дээрх богино өгүүллэгээс сонгон монгол хэл рүү орчуулна.
Уралдаанд орчуулах материалыг эндээс татаж авна уу:
Англи хэл
The Necklace
She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though
fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. She had no marriage
portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and
wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off
to a little clerk in the Ministry of Education. Her tastes were simple because
she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though
she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty,
grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy,
their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of
rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land.
She suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. She
suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and
ugly curtains. All these things, of which other women of her class would not
even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. The sight of the little
Breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart-broken
regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. She imagined silent antechambers,
heavy with Oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with
two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the
heavy warmth of the stove. She imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks,
exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small,
charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends,
men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's
envious longings.
When she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old
cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming
delightedly: "Aha! Scotch broth! What could be better?" she imagined
delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a
past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served
in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable
smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus
chicken.
She had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. And these were the only things she
loved; she felt that she was made for them. She had longed so eagerly to charm,
to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after.
She had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because
she suffered so keenly when she returned home. She would weep whole days, with
grief, regret, despair, and misery.
*
One evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large
envelope in his hand.
"Here's something for you," he said.
Swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these
words: "The Minister of Education and Madame Ramponneau request the
pleasure of the company of Monsieur and Madame Loisel at the Ministry on the
evening of Monday, January the 18th."
Instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation
petulantly across the table, murmuring: "What do you want me to do with
this?"
"Why, darling, I thought you'd be pleased. You never go out, and this is a
great occasion. I had tremendous trouble to get it. Every one wants one; it's
very select, and very few go to the clerks. You'll see all the really big
people there."
She looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "And what do
you suppose I am to wear at such an affair?"
He had not thought about it; he stammered: "Why, the dress you go to the
theatre in. It looks very nice, to me . . ."
He stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife was
beginning to cry. Two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes
towards the corners of her mouth.
"What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you?" he
faltered.
But with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice,
wiping her wet cheeks: "Nothing. Only I haven't a dress and so I can't go
to this party. Give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be
turned out better than I shall."
He was heart-broken.
"Look here, Mathilde," he persisted. "What would be the cost of
a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something
very simple?"
She thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how
large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal
and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk.
At last she replied with some hesitation: "I don't know exactly, but I
think I could do it on four hundred francs."
He grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been saving for a
gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre
with some friends who went lark-shooting there on Sundays. Nevertheless he
said: "Very well. I'll give you four hundred francs. But try and get a
really nice dress with the money."
The day of the party drew near, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy and
anxious. Her dress was ready, however. One evening her husband said to her:
"What's the matter with you? You've been very odd for the last three
days."
"I'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone, to
wear," she replied. "I shall look absolutely no one. I would almost
rather not go to the party."
"Wear flowers," he said. "They're very smart at this time of the
year. For ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses."
She was not convinced.
"No . . . there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle of
a lot of rich women."
"How stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband. "Go and see Madame
Forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. You know her quite well enough for
that."
She uttered a cry of delight.
"That's true. I never thought of it."
Next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble.
Madame Forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought it to
Madame Loisel, opened it, and said: "Choose, my dear."
First she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian cross in
gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. She tried the effect of the jewels
before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to leave them, to
give them up. She kept on asking: "Haven't you anything else?"
"Yes. Look for yourself. I don't know what you would like
best."
Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace; her
heart began to beat covetously. Her hands trembled as she lifted it. She
fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy at
sight of herself.
Then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish: "Could you lend me this, just
this alone?"
"Yes, of course."
She flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly, and went
away with her treasure. The day of the party arrived. Madame Loisel was a
success. She was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, and
quite above herself with happiness. All the men stared at her, inquired her
name, and asked to be introduced to her. All the Under-Secretaries of State
were eager to waltz with her. The Minister noticed her. She danced madly,
ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in the triumph
of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of happiness made up of
this universal homage and admiration, of the desires she had aroused, of the
completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart. She left about four
o'clock in the morning. Since midnight her husband had been dozing in a
deserted little room, in company with three other men whose wives were having a
good time. He threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to
go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty clashed with the beauty of
the ball-dress. She was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away, so
that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly
furs.
Loisel restrained her.
"Wait a little. You'll catch cold in the open. I'm going to fetch a
cab."
But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase. When they
were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to look for one,
shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance.
They walked down towards the Seine, desperate and shivering. At last they found
on the quay one of those old nightprowling carriages which are only to be seen
in Paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the
daylight.
It brought them to their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they walked up
to their own apartment. It was the end, for her. As for him, he was thinking
that he must be at the office at ten.
She took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so as to see
herself in all her glory before the mirror. But suddenly she uttered a cry. The
necklace was no longer round her neck!
"What's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half
undressed.
She turned towards him in the utmost distress.
"I . . . I . . . I've no longer got Madame Forestier's necklace. . .
."
He started with astonishment.
"What! . . . Impossible!"
They searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the coat, in the
pockets, everywhere. They could not find it.
"Are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the
ball?" he asked.
"Yes, I touched it in the hall at the Ministry."
"But if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it
fall."
"Yes. Probably we should. Did you take the number of the cab?"
"No. You didn't notice it, did you?"
"No."
They stared at one another, dumbfounded. At last Loisel put on his clothes
again.
"I'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if I
can't find it."
And he went out. She remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength to get
into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought.
Her husband returned about seven. He had found nothing.
He went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward, to the cab
companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him.
She waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful
catastrophe.
Loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered
nothing.
"You must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that
you've broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. That will
give us time to look about us."
She wrote at his dictation.
*
By the end of a week they had lost all hope.
Loisel, who had aged five years, declared: "We must see about replacing
the diamonds."
Next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the
jewellers whose name was inside. He consulted his books.
"It was not I who sold this necklace, Madame; I must have merely supplied
the clasp."
Then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace like
the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish of
mind.
In a shop at the Palais-Royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to
them exactly like the one they were looking for. It was worth forty thousand
francs. They were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand. They begged the
jeweller not to sell it for three days. And they arranged matters on the
understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs, if
the first one were found before the end of February. Loisel possessed eighteen
thousand francs left to him by his father. He intended to borrow the
rest.
He did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another,
five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous
agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. He
mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature
without even knowing if he could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face
of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the prospect of
every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new
necklace and put down upon the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand
francs.
When Madame Loisel took back the necklace to Madame Forestier, the latter said
to her in a chilly voice: "You ought to have brought it back sooner; I
might have needed it."
She did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. If she had noticed the
substitution, what would she have thought? What would she have said? Would she
not have taken her for a thief?
*
Madame Loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. From the very
first she played her part heroically. This fearful debt must be paid off. She
would pay it. The servant was dismissed. They changed their flat; they took a
garret under the roof.
She came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen.
She washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the
bottoms of pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dish-cloths, and
hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into
the street and carried up the water, stopping on each landing to get her
breath. And, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the grocer,
to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, and fighting for every
wretched halfpenny of her money.
Every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained.
Her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's accounts,
and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page.
And this life lasted ten years.
At the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer's
charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest.
Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become like all the other strong, hard,
coarse women of poor households. Her hair was badly done, her skirts were awry,
her hands were red. She spoke in a shrill voice, and the water slopped all over
the floor when she scrubbed it. But sometimes, when her husband was at the
office, she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago, of the
ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired.
What would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. Who knows? Who
knows? How strange life is, how fickle! How little is needed to ruin or to
save!
One Sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the Champs-Elysees to freshen
herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly of a woman who
was taking a child out for a walk. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still
beautiful, still attractive.
Madame Loisel was conscious of some emotion. Should she speak to her? Yes,
certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all. Why not?
She went up to her.
"Good morning, Jeanne."
The other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly
addressed by a poor woman. "But . . . Madame . . ." she stammered.
"I don't know . . . you must be making a mistake."
"No . . . I am Mathilde Loisel."
Her friend uttered a cry.
"Oh! . . . my poor Mathilde, how you have changed! . . ."
"Yes, I've had some hard times since I saw you last; and many sorrows . .
. and all on your account."
"On my account! . . . How was that?"
"You remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the
Ministry?"
"Yes. Well?"
"Well, I lost it."
"How could you? Why, you brought it back."
"I brought you another one just like it. And for the last ten years we
have been paying for it. You realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no money. .
. . Well, it's paid for at last, and I'm glad indeed."
Madame Forestier had halted.
"You say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?"
"Yes. You hadn't noticed it? They were very much alike."
And she smiled in proud and innocent happiness.
Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands.
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! But mine was imitation. It was worth at the very
most five hundred francs! . . . "
Франц хэл
Герман хэл /7-12-аар хуудас/
Хятад хэл
Орос хэл
ЗИМОВЬЕ НА СТУДЁНОЙ, -МАМИН-СИБИРЯК
Старик лежал на своей лавочке, у печи, закрывшись старой
дохой из вылезших оленьих шкур. Было рано или поздно – он не знал, да и знать
не мог, потому что светало поздно, а небо еще с вечера было затянуто низкими осенними
тучами. Вставать ему не хотелось; в избушке было холодно, а у него уже
несколько дней болели и спина и ноги. Спать он тоже не хотел, а лежал так,
чтобы провести время. Да и куда ему было торопиться? Его разбудило осторожное
царапанье в дверь, – это просился Музгарко, небольшая, пестрая вогульская
собака, жившая в этой избушке уже лет десять.
– Я вот тебе задам, Музгарко!.. – заворчал старик, кутаясь в
свою доху с головой. – Ты у меня поцарапайся…
Собака на время перестала скоблить дверь своей лапой и потом
вдруг взвыла протяжно и жалобно.
– Ах, штоб тебя волки съели!.. – обругался старик,
поднимаясь с лавки.
Он в темноте подошел к двери, отворил ее и все понял, –
отчего у него болела спина и отчего завыла собака. Все, что можно было
рассмотреть в приотворенную дверь, было покрыто снегом. Да, он ясно теперь
видел, как в воздухе кружилась живая сетка из мягких, пушистых снежинок. В избе
было темно, а от снега все видно – и зубчатую стенку стоявшего за рекой леса, и
надувшуюся почерневшую реку, и каменистый мыс, выдававшийся в реку круглым
уступом. Умная собака сидела перед раскрытой дверью и такими умными, говорящими
глазами смотрела на хозяина.
– Ну, што же, значит, конец!.. – ответил ей старик на немой
вопрос собачьих глаз. – Ничего, брат, не поделаешь… Шабаш!..
Собака вильнула хвостом и тихо взвизгнула тем ласковым
визгом, которым встречала одного хозяина.
– Ну, шабаш, ну, што поделаешь, Музгарко!.. Прокатилось наше
красное летечко, а теперь заляжем в берлоге…
На эти слова последовал легкий прыжок, и Музгарко очутился в
избушке раньше хозяина.
– Не любишь зиму, а? – разговаривал старик с собакой,
растопляя старую печь, сложенную из дикого камня. – Не нравится, а?..
Колебавшееся в челе печки пламя осветило лавочку, на которой
спал старик, и целый угол избушки. Из темноты выступали закопченные бревна,
покрытые кое-где плесенью, развешанная в углу сеть, недоконченные новые лапти,
несколько беличьих шкурок, болтавшихся на деревянном крюку, а ближе всего сам
старик – сгорбленный, седой, с ужасным лицом. Это лицо точно было сдвинуто на
одну сторону, так что левый глаз вытек и закрылся припухшим веком. Впрочем,
безобразие отчасти скрадывалось седой бородой. Для Музгарки старик не был ни
красив, ни некрасив.
Пока старик растоплял печь, уже рассвело. Серое зимнее утро
занялось с таким трудом, точно невидимому солнцу было больно светить. В избушке
едва можно было рассмотреть дальнюю стену, у которой тянулись широкие нары,
устроенные из тяжелых деревянных плах. Единственное окно, наполовину
залепленное рыбьим пузырем, едва пропускало свет. Музгарко сидел у порога и
терпеливо наблюдал за хозяином, изредка виляя хвостом.
Но и собачьему терпенью бывает конец, и Музгарко опять слабо
взвизгнул.
– Сейчас, не торопись, – ответил ему старик, придвигая к
огню чугунный котелок с водой. – Успеешь…
Музгарко лег и, положив остромордую голову в передние лапы,
не спускал глаз с хозяина. Когда старик накинул на плечи дырявый пониток,
собака радостно залаяла и бросилась в дверь.
– То-то вот у меня поясница третий день болит, – объяснил
старик собаке на ходу. – Оно и вышло, што к ненастью. Вона как снежок
подваливает…
За одну ночь все кругом совсем изменилось, – лес казался
ближе, река точно сузилась, а низкие зимние облака ползли над самой землей и
только не цеплялись за верхушки елей и пихт. Вообще вид был самый печальный, а
пушинки снега продолжали кружиться в воздухе и беззвучно падали на помертвевшую
землю. Старик оглянулся назад, за свою избушку – за ней уходило ржавое болото,
чуть тронутое кустиками и жесткой болотной травой. С небольшими перерывами это
болото тянулось верст на пятьдесят и отделяло избушку от всего живого мира. А
какая она маленькая показалась теперь старику, эта избушка, точно за ночь
вросла в землю…
К берегу была причалена лодка-душегубка. Музгарко первый
вскочил в нее, оперся передними лапами на край и зорко посмотрел вверх реки,
туда, где выдавался мыс, и слабо взвизгнул.
– Чему обрадовался спозаранку? – окликнул его старик. –
Погоди, может, и нет ничего…
Собака знала, что есть, и опять взвизгнула: она видела затонувшие
поплавки закинутой в омуте снасти. Лодка полетела вверх по реке у самого
берега. Старик стоял на ногах и гнал лодку вперед, подпираясь шестом. Он тоже
знал по визгу собаки, что будет добыча. Снасть действительно огрузла самой
серединой, и, когда лодка подошла, деревянные поплавки повело книзу.
– Есть, Музгарко…
Снасть состояла из брошенной поперек реки бечевы с поводками
из тонких шнурков и волосяной лесы. Каждый поводок заканчивался острым крючком.
Подъехав к концу снасти, старик осторожно начал выбирать ее в лодку. Добыча
была хорошая: два больших сига, несколько судаков, щука и целых пять штук
стерлядей. Щука попалась большая, и с ней было много хлопот. Старик осторожно
подвел ее к лодке и сначала оглушил своим шестом, а потом уже вытащил. Музгарко
сидел в носу лодки и внимательно наблюдал за работой.
– Любишь стерлядку? – дразнил его старик, показывая рыбу. –
А ловить не умеешь… Погоди, заварим сегодня уху. К ненастью рыба идет лучше на
крюк… В омуте она теперь сбивается на зимнюю лежанку, а мы ее из омута и будем
добывать: вся наша будет. Лучить ужо поедем… Ну, а теперь айда домой!..
Судаков-то подвесим, высушим, а потом купцам продадим…
Старик запасал рыбу с самой весны: часть вялил на солнце,
другую сушил в избе, а остатки сваливал в глубокую яму вроде колодца; эта
последняя служила кормом Музгарке. Свежая рыба не переводилась у него целый
год, только не хватало у него соли, чтобы ее солить, да и хлеба не всегда
доставало, как было сейчас. Запас ему оставляли с зимы до зимы.
– Скоро обоз придет, – объяснил старик собаке. – Привезут
нам с тобой и хлеба, и соли, и пороху… Вот только избушка наша совсем
развалилась, Музгарко.
Осенний день короток. Старик все время проходил около своей
избушки, поправляя и то и другое, чтобы лучше ухорониться на зиму. В одном
месте мох вылез из пазов, в другом – бревно подгнило, в третьем – угол совсем
осел и, того гляди, отвалится. Давно бы уж новую избушку пора ставить, да
одному все равно ничего не поделать.
– Как-нибудь, может, перебьюсь зиму, – думал старик вслух,
постукивая топором в стену. – А вот обоз придет, так тогда…
Солонгос хэл /392-394-аар хуудас/
